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Description
Sitting under the playground in the park in a rainstorm. It's dripping a lot, but otherwise isn't too bad. The sun is shining through a thinner cloud behind the branches of a tree and the wind whips the parachutes of the surfers around like a leaf in a jet turbine.

Someone's hit the mute button on the world. The cars' wheels on the wet tarmac, the ocean on the sea-weedy beach, and the drip drip drip all around me and onto this paper are the only things I can hear. I was wise to bring a pencil. I wish I could record what my senses are picking up now and play it back to you, the sombre and almost eerie beauty. The waves have white tops and the water is seeping through to my skin. The grass bows to the rain's superiority.

This page is getting soaked too. The droplets hang on the paper, slowly seeping through the contents and lightening the pencil. I'd have bought a camera, would it not have been drenched to oblivion.

That's what happens to me sometimes, I feel. Life seeps through me until the blood washes out of my waterlogged skin.

How dare the gulls blaspheme with their cries and the leaves still fall from the trees.

This is autumn, this is the rain.

I love it dearly.

Description
Sitting under the playground in the park in a rainstorm. It's dripping a lot, but otherwise isn't too bad. The sun is shining through a thinner cloud behind the branches of a tree and the wind whips the parachutes of the surfers around like a leaf in a jet turbine.

Someone's hit the mute button on the world. The cars' wheels on the wet tarmac, the ocean on the sea-weedy beach, and the drip drip drip all around me and onto this paper are the only things I can hear. I was wise to bring a pencil. I wish I could record what my senses are picking up now and play it back to you, the sombre and almost eerie beauty. The waves have white tops and the water is seeping through to my skin. The grass bows to the rain's superiority.

This page is getting soaked too. The droplets hang on the paper, slowly seeping through the contents and lightening the pencil. I'd have bought a camera, would it not have been drenched to oblivion.

That's what happens to me sometimes, I feel. Life seeps through me until the blood washes out of my waterlogged skin.

How dare the gulls blaspheme with their cries and the leaves still fall from the trees.

This is autumn, this is the rain.

I love it dearly.